My OperaA brief history of my year at Morris School
Friday, July 9, 2010 1:04:10 PM
Well, after I skipped the last two periods of each school day of the eighth grade until the last two weeks in May when the principle caught me meandering across a street, he promptly expelled me and stated I had to repeat the eighth grade. Mom decided to send me to Morris School where I could be controlled 24/7 after a long summer of "in the dog house".
I thought is was unfair, all I skipped was study hall and PE. I really did not skip those classes, I just did not sigh up for them after not making the football team. The coach told me to go sign up at the principals office. I just wandered up the hill across from the gym and went on adventures around town all year long.
I remember each year Searcy played a football game against Morris during the school day. It was a fun day as every class got to go watch the game instead of being cooped up in the class room doing what ever it was we did in class. I daydreamed and looked out the window the majority of the time, except the sixth grade. I was in a classroom adjacent to the old gym in front of the football stadium. No windows in that building, I actually had to listen to the teacher, Mrs Fuller. I learned some "stuff" that year, as it is difficult to daydream without a window to stare out.
We all had ideals about the boys who attended Morris as being delinquents and misfits, big scary bruisers who cheated to win the games. Well, when you were in the ninth grade and I was repeating the eighth grade, I was on the football team of Morris and played in that game against Searcy. All I can tell you is that we did receive instruction on the use of knees and elbows and other maneuvers designed to take advantage of the opponents, but we did not cheat. HA!
Anyway, my first two weeks at Morris was a hazing, so to speak. There was a pecking order there and everyone wanted to find out my place in that order. Seems to me every one wanted me on the bottom in that order. I bet I was in two fights a day, and we are not talking about the tame fights like at Searcy, we are talking about broken noses, bruising brutal battles that lasted until someone gave up or a Brother happened along and and ended the battle with a broom handle across the back of the legs of the warriors.
The Brothers were fond of their broom handles, I remember several times in the "chow line" where there was to be no talking, receiving a blow to the back of my legs while in mid sentence. It did not take long for me to scout the immediate area before I talked in line after a few encounters with the broom handle. I was used to having my hand paddled for talking in class at Searcy, which I did mostly when I was not looking out of a window or daydreaming. I learned not to show the pain of those encounters. But let me tell you, a broom handle on the back of your legs, is terribly painful; in no way does it compare to having your hand beaten.
Of course in actual classrooms out there, my friends the windows were there, and true to my nature, I used them well. The Brothers did not take kindly to that sort of scholarship. I was in the midst of a great daydream, watching the wind blow the leaves on a tree when, I was blasted on my right temple by a chunk of chalk the Brother "dropped horizontally" from the front of the classroom. It was a difficult pastime to give up, so I caught many chunks of chalk the first few weeks. I think what finally broke that habit was not a chunk of chalk, but rather an chalk board eraser that "fell horizontally" across the room and landed right between my eyes. Well, that eraser had not been cleaned for a year and was full of dust which exploded into a huge cloud around my head and left me covered from head to toe. My first instinct was to take a breath and I inhaled a ton of that dust, fell to the floor chocking and gasping for air, and having to cough at the same time. Oh, it was miserable, much worse than pain from broom handles, or chalk against my temple. My daydreaming and staring out of windows died a dusty death that day.
Well, after I had to actually participate as a student in the academics of whatever subject the class was about, the Brothers discovered that I was basically illiterate. Oh, they had a solution for that too. After the normal school day while all the "smart boys" were playing football, climbing trees, or just relaxing, I, and a few others like myself, was in a special classroom being taught the basics of math and science. The worst part of that class was that if you continued to be illiterate, you had to attend all day Saturday and Sunday, as well. Oh, it only took me three months to learn what I should have learned the previous eight school years. I was officially literate.
After I was freed from that program, I was allowed to go get into fights, roam the woods with the few friends I had managed to make, or read books in the library. Yep, I actually learned how to read books that year, that turned out to be a good substitute for the daydreaming, I had to give up. I read lots of Zane Grey's westerns, and a book about investments and how the stock market worked. Heck, I did not have a clue what that book was about, but I was officially literate then, and I stored the info away where a daydream should have been, and many years later that information helped me to loose a lot of money in the stock market. But I did better with my 401K choices.
I have one vivid memory about that year that deals with death, my first experience with the concept. I was the only kid who was from Searcy at Morris. A local boy who's family lived close to the school was killed in a car accident. His name was Frankie Feltrop (not sure of the spelling, but then I never am). I was chosen to attend his graveside service at a grave yard across the dirt road from the school, along with a few of the boys who actually knew him, as well as, a somber procession of the Brothers. I was oblivious to what was going on, having never been to such a service or knowing anyone who had died, until his mother in her grief whaled out and clung to the coffin. That site sent shivers down my spine. To me, it was like all of a sudden one of those books came to life, I was stunned and confused, I watched, as if, it were a movie unfolding in front of me. I never will forget that scene, and I vowed to never go to a funeral again.
The rest of that year at Morris went well academically. In the spring we made kites using toothpicks which I thought was remarkable because they actually flew. Many boys ventured into the woods and captured a baby squirrel to have as a pet. We were allowed to have them in our pockets during classes, which is amazing considering all the other things we were not allowed to have\do. Anyway, mine escaped one day, I was not fast enough to capture him before he took off, but I did manage to have part of his tail in my hand, as the rest of him went scampering into a tree. That was a shock, a void, a hole in reality for me.
I had planned to go back to the Morris the next year and then transfer to their high school in a place called "Sabatico" but I ended up in Texas living with my dad the next school year.
I thought is was unfair, all I skipped was study hall and PE. I really did not skip those classes, I just did not sigh up for them after not making the football team. The coach told me to go sign up at the principals office. I just wandered up the hill across from the gym and went on adventures around town all year long.
I remember each year Searcy played a football game against Morris during the school day. It was a fun day as every class got to go watch the game instead of being cooped up in the class room doing what ever it was we did in class. I daydreamed and looked out the window the majority of the time, except the sixth grade. I was in a classroom adjacent to the old gym in front of the football stadium. No windows in that building, I actually had to listen to the teacher, Mrs Fuller. I learned some "stuff" that year, as it is difficult to daydream without a window to stare out.
We all had ideals about the boys who attended Morris as being delinquents and misfits, big scary bruisers who cheated to win the games. Well, when you were in the ninth grade and I was repeating the eighth grade, I was on the football team of Morris and played in that game against Searcy. All I can tell you is that we did receive instruction on the use of knees and elbows and other maneuvers designed to take advantage of the opponents, but we did not cheat. HA!
Anyway, my first two weeks at Morris was a hazing, so to speak. There was a pecking order there and everyone wanted to find out my place in that order. Seems to me every one wanted me on the bottom in that order. I bet I was in two fights a day, and we are not talking about the tame fights like at Searcy, we are talking about broken noses, bruising brutal battles that lasted until someone gave up or a Brother happened along and and ended the battle with a broom handle across the back of the legs of the warriors.
The Brothers were fond of their broom handles, I remember several times in the "chow line" where there was to be no talking, receiving a blow to the back of my legs while in mid sentence. It did not take long for me to scout the immediate area before I talked in line after a few encounters with the broom handle. I was used to having my hand paddled for talking in class at Searcy, which I did mostly when I was not looking out of a window or daydreaming. I learned not to show the pain of those encounters. But let me tell you, a broom handle on the back of your legs, is terribly painful; in no way does it compare to having your hand beaten.
Of course in actual classrooms out there, my friends the windows were there, and true to my nature, I used them well. The Brothers did not take kindly to that sort of scholarship. I was in the midst of a great daydream, watching the wind blow the leaves on a tree when, I was blasted on my right temple by a chunk of chalk the Brother "dropped horizontally" from the front of the classroom. It was a difficult pastime to give up, so I caught many chunks of chalk the first few weeks. I think what finally broke that habit was not a chunk of chalk, but rather an chalk board eraser that "fell horizontally" across the room and landed right between my eyes. Well, that eraser had not been cleaned for a year and was full of dust which exploded into a huge cloud around my head and left me covered from head to toe. My first instinct was to take a breath and I inhaled a ton of that dust, fell to the floor chocking and gasping for air, and having to cough at the same time. Oh, it was miserable, much worse than pain from broom handles, or chalk against my temple. My daydreaming and staring out of windows died a dusty death that day.
Well, after I had to actually participate as a student in the academics of whatever subject the class was about, the Brothers discovered that I was basically illiterate. Oh, they had a solution for that too. After the normal school day while all the "smart boys" were playing football, climbing trees, or just relaxing, I, and a few others like myself, was in a special classroom being taught the basics of math and science. The worst part of that class was that if you continued to be illiterate, you had to attend all day Saturday and Sunday, as well. Oh, it only took me three months to learn what I should have learned the previous eight school years. I was officially literate.
After I was freed from that program, I was allowed to go get into fights, roam the woods with the few friends I had managed to make, or read books in the library. Yep, I actually learned how to read books that year, that turned out to be a good substitute for the daydreaming, I had to give up. I read lots of Zane Grey's westerns, and a book about investments and how the stock market worked. Heck, I did not have a clue what that book was about, but I was officially literate then, and I stored the info away where a daydream should have been, and many years later that information helped me to loose a lot of money in the stock market. But I did better with my 401K choices.
I have one vivid memory about that year that deals with death, my first experience with the concept. I was the only kid who was from Searcy at Morris. A local boy who's family lived close to the school was killed in a car accident. His name was Frankie Feltrop (not sure of the spelling, but then I never am). I was chosen to attend his graveside service at a grave yard across the dirt road from the school, along with a few of the boys who actually knew him, as well as, a somber procession of the Brothers. I was oblivious to what was going on, having never been to such a service or knowing anyone who had died, until his mother in her grief whaled out and clung to the coffin. That site sent shivers down my spine. To me, it was like all of a sudden one of those books came to life, I was stunned and confused, I watched, as if, it were a movie unfolding in front of me. I never will forget that scene, and I vowed to never go to a funeral again.
The rest of that year at Morris went well academically. In the spring we made kites using toothpicks which I thought was remarkable because they actually flew. Many boys ventured into the woods and captured a baby squirrel to have as a pet. We were allowed to have them in our pockets during classes, which is amazing considering all the other things we were not allowed to have\do. Anyway, mine escaped one day, I was not fast enough to capture him before he took off, but I did manage to have part of his tail in my hand, as the rest of him went scampering into a tree. That was a shock, a void, a hole in reality for me.
I had planned to go back to the Morris the next year and then transfer to their high school in a place called "Sabatico" but I ended up in Texas living with my dad the next school year.
